Steady Hands
by Mystwalker
Summary: As the party spends the night in Costa del Sol, Cissnei wanders off to reminisce about the lessons learned in her past, and consider her future. One-shot set after the pink-haired Sephiroth scene in my Another Side AU (Interlude 002). Slightly dramatic. Sephiroth x Cissnei.


**Steady Hands**

**By:**

**Mystwalker**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Final Fantasy VII.

**A/N: **Because this scene and that chapter was so popular, thought I'd give it a little follow-up. ^^ Those of you waiting for an update to _Yuffie's Guide_, it's coming. I have half of "The Tifa" written out. I just needed a break because I'm not in a very "Yuffie" mindset right now. And for those of you waiting for the next quick _Side Stories _one-shot, I've already picked the prompt. I just need to settle down and write it.

So in case some of you were wondering, this scene comes off of the last chapter of _Interlude 002: Coast of the Sun_, in which Yuffie dyes Sephiroth's hair a bright pink as a prank and Seph is none-too-pleased. Kind of a serious chapter, with a disjointed style of storytelling, because the ending of_ Zetsuen no Tempest _put me in this mood.

For you Zerith fans, I'm considering also writing the Zack x Aerith date into a one-shot. I say 'considering' not because I'm not interested, but because I can't make any promises right now, with all the work I have left to do.

XxXxX

_Bang. _

_Bang. Bang. Bang. _

Muzzle flare illuminated the area around her for a moment, a bright flash of light as the gun in her hand recoiled, a series of bullets embedding themselves in the target she had set up. It reflected off of the light brown of her eyes and against her red-brown hair. She took in a breath, raising her left hand just high enough to unclip the magazine from her gun, empty shells scattered on the sand around her.

_Waste of ammo…_she thought, sparing them a glance. Cissnei walked forward, letting her gun fall to side as she stared at the target she'd set up. A sheet of paper propped up on a stick, with a large sand dune serving as a backstop. The paper was riddled with holes, most of them near the center. She studied them, glancing back at the lights of Costa del Sol to make sure they were far enough in the distance.

She wasn't a dedicated shooter. Not like Barret. Not like some Turks she knew. But there was something visceral about a gunshot, a release of tension that swinging her shuriken around couldn't quite provoke. She almost considered it cathartic. Her fingers trailed lightly over the shots, dipping briefly into each hole. Eight bullets. What had she been thinking? She wasn't a Turk anymore—she couldn't just requisition more ammo when it was convenient. She sighed, exhaling slowly as her hand fell away from the sheet. Behind her, the sea crashed gently across the shore, the moonlight illuminating the beach area.

_This all started because I got out of bed…_

It was a sound from down the hall that had woken her. Cissnei opened her eyes, glancing around the room. Yuffie was lying sprawled out on her side on her bed, her eyes still closed and sleeping peacefully, as if she was completely unaware of what was going on, but when Cissnei listened again, she could still hear it, an angry muttering coming from downstairs. Frowning, she reached for her shuriken and slid out of bed, making her way down the hallway.

She found Sephiroth in the inn's kitchen, glaring at his hair. It was still bright pink from the prank Yuffie had played on him earlier today, although the color had faded somewhat. It was also soaking wet. There was a brush on the counter, and traces of pink dye in the sink. A bottle of dye remover stood on the table. She watched him struggle with his hair for a moment, a faint smile on her face. She remembered being amused the first time she had found out about his one vanity—not that there hadn't been rumors about it before, of course. She just hadn't really believed them. Now she just found the whole situation amusing. Sephiroth. The Great General, the Hero of Wutai, the man who had once captured the hearts of what felt like every single teenaged girl in Midgar, defeated by hair products. She hated the fact that she found it ridiculously endearing. Cissnei folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

"No luck?" she finally asked.

He stiffened and spun around, his eyes landing on her. Her smile widened, and she tilted her head to the side. His expression softened, changing from anger to irritation as he noticed her there. He glanced away. "It won't come out," he admitted.

"Probably because your hair's so light," she said. "Need any help with that?"

He stared at her, holding her gaze. After a while, he shrugged slightly, gesturing at the things on the counter. Sephiroth-speak for "Be my guest". Cissnei shook her head and stepped forward, letting the door close behind her.

"Sit down," she said. "Let me see what I can do."

He obeyed, sitting down with his back towards her. She reached out tentatively, but he didn't stop her as she placed her hands near his shoulders, her fingers lightly brushing his neck as she gathered up the mass of pink hair and let it fall over the back rest of the chair, where she could reach. He didn't react, staring at the wall ahead of her, although she thought she might have heard his breathing shift when she touched him. She ignored it, running her hands through his hair and trying to comb it out with her fingers.

"…You've dealt with this before?" asked Sephiroth, breaking the tense silence.

"I've dyed my hair a few times for missions," she said. "Red isn't exactly unnoticeable, you know, not even this shade of it. Never pink, though." The last, she said with a slightly teasing smile.

"Hn," he said in response. He didn't sound amused. She shook her head.

"Honestly, I don't know what you're on about," she said. "If I had hair like this, I'd settle for pink…"

"Just get it out…" he said, sounding tired of the whole ordeal.

"I'll see what I can do," said Cissnei. "Hold still, okay?"

His hair slipped through her fingers like silk, and she was grateful that the kitchen didn't have a mirror, so that he couldn't see the look in her eyes…

There was no silk at the tip of her fingers now, as she trailed her hand down the gunshot-riddled target. _Steady hands_…she reminded herself. She could still almost see Veld as he had been back then, cupping her hands and repositioning them around the hilt of the gun as she stared at the target downfield. It had been daytime then, and she had been much younger. She couldn't have been older than nine, and she was small for her age even then, dressed in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. It had been the height of summer, and the leader of the Turks had come by to check on her training. He often did once in a while, when he could spare the time. A part of her wished he wouldn't—the other children didn't take kindly to the fact that she was being shown so much attention, but part of her welcomed the visits. She was always eager to please.

"Steady hands, that's the key…" Veld had told her. "You're doing fine. Alright, ready…? Release the safety. Take a deep breath. Take aim. Now, slowly—slowly…squeeze…"

She followed his instructions to the letter, holding in her breath as she braced herself for recoil and squeezed the trigger. The gun went off, the bullet sinking itself deep into the center of the man-shaped target. Veld released her hands, nodding in approval. "Good. Try it again."

"I hear you've been doing well," commented Veld when they were done. The two of them were sitting on the ground next to the firing range, and she was sipping on a bottle of water that Veld had handed her. She said nothing, letting him continue to talk. "Your teachers say you've learned to read very quickly, you've almost caught up on the amount of education a child your age should have, and of course your training is progressing well."

She replied with a shrug, taking another sip of water. She'd been thrown across the room in her unarmed combat class the other day, and still had the bruises to show for it, but she didn't tell him that. Veld sighed, accustomed to her silence by now. She glanced at him as he settled back further into the grass, gesturing at the sandwiches he'd laid out between them.

"There's food if you want it."

She said nothing, and didn't make a move towards the sandwiches either. Veld motioned towards them with his hand. "Go on," he said. "Take one."

She finally did, reluctantly, picking up the sandwich and carefully picking at the plastic wrap that surrounded it. When she ate, she took little bites, savoring each one. She hadn't lacked for food in the three years since she had come here, but old habits were hard to break. Veld watched her as she ate, and she kept him in the corner of her vision, her back straight and her body tense.

"You know you can talk," said Veld at last. "Ask questions if you want. I won't get mad. I promise."

_They promised too…_she thought, thinking back to the orphanage. But Veld had been nice to her so far. She took a deep breath, thinking of what she could possibly ask him.

"…Why me?" she settled on, wiping crumbs of bread from her face. It was a question that had been nagging at her, over the past couple of years.

Veld frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. "Why didn't you just…leave?"

"You assisted us with the mission," said Veld. "That took a lot of courage, and showed potential. You put yourself at risk to help us out. We weren't just going to leave you there."

"Is that all?" she asked, frowning as she teased a small piece of bread off of the roll and popped it into her mouth.

"What other reason is there?" asked Veld, looking over at her.

She shrugged and fell silent, continuing to eat. She could still feel his eyes on her, but she resolved not to look up at him. At length, he sighed again. "To tell you the truth," he said. "There's another reason. You reminded me of someone."

That got her curiosity. She looked up. "Who?" she asked.

"My daughter," replied Veld. "Felicia. She's not much older than you. Come here. Let me show you a picture…"

The girl in the picture did not look like her, she decided. The girl in the picture was beautiful, with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a pretty dress and was smiling. If she closed her eyes, she still remembered that smile. And she remembered seeing Kalm burn.

She stood there at the age of twelve, taller now, older now, with her eyes wide in horror as she watched the screens in Veld's office. Veld watched them too, his face like stone. After the word came in that the strike had been successful, she saw him pull the earpiece from his ear and throw it to the ground. He collapsed into his chair behind his desk, covering his face with his hands. His hands weren't shaking. She was sure hers would be, under the circumstances. In fact, she even thought they were shaking now.

She must have made a sound, some noise, because he looked up, his eyes fixing on her as if he saw her there for the first time. "Why are you still here?" he asked.

_I've been here this whole time…_she wanted to say, but the words died in her throat. She couldn't think of a good way to tell him that he had called her in here before this whole thing had started, to get her to report on her progress. She had been standing here, transfixed, as the whole drama unfolded, starting with the transmission saying that the company leak originated from Kalm and ending with Veld calmly saying "Do it." into the mic, his eyes hard. She'd watched the missiles slam into the town, unable to look away.

She watched Veld now, with that same feeling. The only thing she managed to get out was "…_Why_?"

He turned away from her, staring down at his hands. He should have cried—she thought. She would have. He should have screamed, done _something_. Instead, he just stared at his hands. He looked…he looked like an empty man. "Because it had to be done," he said, speaking calmly. "Because the Turks will do anything to fulfill the mission. Look at these hands…we can't hold anything with these hands."

_We can't love anything with these hands…_

The words went unspoken, but she heard them anyway.

She was too late. In the end, she was too late. The image passed in front of her mind again, Tseng, with one hand on his phone and the other on his gun, turning, shooting twice, Veld and Elfe falling to the ground. Just…falling. She had come to Midgar to help them—and why shouldn't she? She was still a Turk, after all—but she had been too late. And the worst part was, she knew why Tseng had done it. Knew it clearly. Because it was part of the mission. Part of the…

Her hands stilled at her sides as she finally stopped running, breathing hard as she studied her surroundings. Sector 7. Had she run all this way? The phone in her hand vibrated—it had been doing that for the last few steps, but she had been ignoring it, her mind still filled with the sight of Tseng and Veld. She took a deep breath, remembering her training, and ran a hand through her hair, glancing down at it.

_**Call from…**_

_**Sephiroth**_

She stared at it numbly. The phone vibrated twice more before falling still. A moment later, a message appeared on her screen.

**When are you coming back? **

When was she coming back? She couldn't even think about that. She knew she had to return to Modeoheim, but still…

She shook her head, taking a deep breath.

_Remember your training…_she thought to herself. _Steady hands…_

She typed out a single message, her expression calm.

**I'm not sure. Hopefully not too long. I'll try to get a ride, but things are a little troubled out here. Can't call now. Talk to you soon. **

Her hands shook in spite of herself. She pocketed the phone, feeling a shudder run through her, and with it a sudden flash of anger. Cissnei whirled around, letting out a small shout of fury as she punched at the nearest wall. It was made of metal, the impact sending shockwaves rippling up her arm. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. It wasn't enough. She twisted around, letting out a shout of frustration as she kicked at the wall, her foot clanging against it. She whirled around, punching at the wall again.

It had been an exercise in futility. She didn't know why she had done it. The whole way back to Modeoheim, her hands and legs bruised and aching, she had wondered what had made her so angry in the first place. All that came to mind was Veld sitting behind his desk, staring at the screens that showed Kalm slowly smoldering in the aftermath of the attack.

_We can't hold anything with these hands…_

Veld leaving with Elfe. The Turks, letting him go. He was smiling.

_We can't hold anything with these hands…_

Tseng, shooting. Veld and Elfe, falling to the ground.

_With these hands…_

She saw herself again, in the inn's common room, reaching up and wrapping her arms around Sephiroth. He'd been so confused. She couldn't think of what to do…only that it felt right.

…_can't hold anything…_

Her hands shook as she ripped the piece of paper off of its stand. She forced them into stillness, folding up the sheet and looking out at the sea. She wouldn't make that same mistake. She knew who she was—what she was. She knew she couldn't hold anything. Not until it was over. She had to fulfill the mission. As she was, she couldn't hold anything.

Least of all him.


End file.
